


Velvet

by claroso



Series: The Clara Amell Story [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Friendship, Gen, and cry?, bc i do, do you ever just think about Morrigan, shopping!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 02:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20593337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claroso/pseuds/claroso
Summary: The gang goes shopping, and Morrigan finds more than she bargained for.





	Velvet

Denerim did not suit Morrigan. It was noisy, everyone shouting to be heard over the rest. The air was stale and unmoving. And the looks that she got from people. Traders and shopkeepers saw her and their mouths puckered up like they were sucking on a lemon. The nobles that came to see the Wardens glared at her, as if just her presence was an affront. Others, the ones they passed in the street, simply ignored her. At least until they got too close–close enough to see her Fade-touched eyes–then they jumped back, eyes wide, and scurried away. That was better than disgust, at least. She was used to fear.

The tailor, a thin, pale woman with hunched shoulders, was watching her now, squinting at her from across the shop. Goosebumps rose on her arms. Trying to ignore her, Morrigan turned towards the rest of her group.

Zevran and Lelianna were arguing over the quality of a leather jacket, both gesturing wildly. Alistair stood behind Wynne with a vacant expression, arms piled high with bundles of yarn, as she inspected knitting needles.

The witch gravitated towards Amell. The Warden was running her fingers over bolts of fabric.

“See anything you want?” She asked, brushing her blonde bangs out of her eyes.

“No.” Morrigan replied. The other mage hummed quietly and returned to inspecting fabric. Out of the entire group, she appreciated Clara Amell the most. She was reserved, a woman of action rather than words, and a competent leader. And despite being a Circle mage, she was quite powerful. It was…nice, to have someone to talk with about the intricacies of their craft, and not to be talked at or scolded like Flemeth used to.

Absently, she felt a bolt of pale blue material. She gasped softly; it was soft, much softer than she expected. She ran the tips of her fingers across it again. 

“That’s nice.” Clara said.

Morrigan jerked her hand back from the fabric and looked elsewhere. “I suppose.”

"It’d make a nice shirt.“ She picked up the bolt. "Warm, too.”

“It is unnecessary. I have plenty of clothing and I’m sure we have more useful things to spend money on.”

She snorted. “Most of your clothes are rags. If we have enough coin for Lelianna’s makeup, we can afford to have you not freeze to death.”

Despite the fact that Clara was right, her pride stung. Her clothes were old and worn and patched thrice over, but they were suitable. “I am perfectly able to fend for myself.” She snapped.“I did not freeze in the WIlds and I will not freeze in this horrid city.”

She looked down at her, narrowing her eyes. “You know what?” She tucked the fabric under her arm. “I’m getting it for you.”

"What? No!“ She tried to snatch it back, but Clara ducked out of the way and held it above her head. Morrigan jumped for the bolt of fabric and missed. Her friend giggled. She yanked on the taller woman’s arm, and hissed, "Stop, you are being ridiculous!”

“No, you are!” She laughed.

Morrigan growled, reaching for the fabric.

“A-hem!”

They froze. The tailor was glaring at them, hands on her hips.

She glared right back, untangling herself and crossing her arms. Clara muttered an apology. The tailor huffed and returned to glaring at the other patrons.

"I’m still getting it for you.“

She rolled her eyes. "Do what you will, Warden. But that color is absolutely atrocious.”

Clara grinned. “Don’t worry, they have others.”

* * *

"Here.“ That was all the warning Morrigan had before a pile o fblack fabric landed on top of her open grimoire.

She looked up to see Clara standing over her. "I am busy.”

"Too bad.“ She plopped down on the bed, jostling her.

Morrigan sighed and crossed her arms, resolutely not looking at the Warden. But, like the pest she was, she leaned into her field of vision with her eyebrows raised and her eyes darting between her and the fabric.

"Ugh!” She finally exclaimed, pushing her away. She grabbed the bundle. “Damnation, Clara, you–” It was the fabric from weeks ago, startling soft between her fingers. And sewn into shirts, most in black and a few in a deep blood red. And beneath those a long skirt in a stiffer fabric. “What?”

She smiled. “I had to guess on some of the measurements, so they might not fit perfectly. But it’s not like the darkspawn will care what we look like.”

Morrigan gaped at her. She had completely dismissed the exchange at the tailor’s, thinking it no more than a way to tease or embarrass her. But Clara had not, evidently.

She turned away and cleared her throat. “I did not know you could sew.” She said as evenly as she could.

“We all needed something to pass time in the Circle, and I wasn’t a fan of reciting the Chant. Oh,” Rummaging through a pocket, she pulled out a necklace and held it out to her. “before I forget.”

"Oh.“ She took it, cradling the gold in her palms. A large, jeweled pendant on a heavy chain, it twinkled in the candlelight.

"I thought they’d match.” Clara shrugged, standing. “Anyway, we’re eating supper soon if you’re hungry. Lelianna claimed she found something Orlesian at the market, so that should be fun.”

The door shut behind her and Morrigan sat for a while, trying to swallow past the heavy lump in her throat. When she could breath deeply again, she stood and pulled on the skirt and a very low cut shirt, relishing the brush of the fabric against her skin. She fastened the necklace around her neck and went to join the others. 

The lively conversation paused when she approached. She felt taller somehow–was that normal when one wore new clothes?–and she felt her companions’ eyes on her. But, for the first time, it was not unwelcome. 

**Author's Note:**

> I just love Morrigan's story so much. She starts out as an abused, neglected loner and grows into a woman who cherishes her life and her friends. I think an important part of that was her allowing herself to have pretty things, even if they are non-necessities, and taking control of how she is seen by others. So I like to imagine that she had very practical clothes at the beginning of the game and choose to wear more scandalous, pretty outfits as time went on and she got used to being away from Flemeth.


End file.
